Straight Razors and Prison Birds
by Droce
Summary: He didn't quite know how Barton had gotten Dimitri to cell with him, but he was sure as hell thankful for it- Dimitri was a wonderful cell mate. Dimitri/Clive, takes place 3 years after Unwound Future.
1. A Skill of Being Oblivious

Professor Layton and its characters belong to Level-5.

What, with it's take-forever localization. ;;;;

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><p>He didn't quite know how Barton had gotten Dimitri to cell with him, but he was sure as hell thankful for it. Clive would have gone full-out mad if he'd been celled with someone other than Dimitri- he was calming to be around, that was sure. Clive was sometimes allowed to go on breaks to the Professor's house, to visit for up to a week-and-a half at a time, but he usually stayed for a weekend every few weeks; Dimitri, on the other hand, would stay in the shared cell in solitude while the other was visiting- Who did he have to go to? There wasn't really anyone for him to visit.<p>

The man who kept his hair pulled back into a ponytail with that stray part of his bangs covering his right eye was utterly fascinating, more than what Clive had previously noticed.

He'd never noticed the older man's preference for straight razors until they'd started sharing a cell in the high-security ward of one of London's top prisons. He was trying to teach Clive to use a straight razor, as well, seeing as it'd be more cost-effective than constantly buying replacement razors, and you'd get that much more of a closer shave. Clive was decent, and he had to admit, the man had _class._ Even the _Professor_ didn't use a straight razor, considering how old-fashioned he tended to be.

Dimitri didn't talk very much, but he held very good conversation- although somewhat wary of the younger for the first few months of their imprisonment, Clive had managed to regain Dimitri's trust to an extent. Clive could sleep with the knowledge that Dimitri wouldn't slit his throat while he slept- The man was no killer, but one never could know. He had a calming voice to talk in, and his whole disposition was very relaxed, save for that underlying stress that came with work, or, in this scenario, being in prison for what he'd done.

Dimitri wasn't specifically nosy, either, which was a nice thing. For the most part, he kept to himself, reading or staring at the walls, so deep in thought that you'd have to pull his hair or throw something at him to regain his attention. It was ironic that he'd manage to be so at home in the underground London, yet his claustrophobia spiked while living in the cell- at least it was fairly spacious, being made for two.

Clive had taken to playing with Dimitri's hair, the silvery ponytail that reached past the man's hips. Braiding it, twisting it with his fingers, it was almost irresistible to not play with it. The fact that it curled made the matter no better- those curls that made corkscrew shapes, to bounce back when you tugged on it. Dimitri would only ever chuckle and tell him to _stop that already, would you?_ But made no move to stop the boy from what he did. Other times, Clive would lay on his back with his head in the man's lap, both reading a book, talking, or perhaps Clive just liked watching that sleepy, distant expression Dimitri took on when he was thinking, sometimes falling asleep while thinking, sitting just like that.

On the few occasions Clive heard the man sing, he figured that Dimitri didn't know he was awake or not alone; Dimitri's singing voice was like that which he spoke it- it sounded utterly wonderful. Low, soft singing in a language that wasn't English, most likely a folk song or something, but the tune was similar. When Clive did comment on it, Dimitri looked away and said it was an old something he'd learned as a child.

It wouldn't be quite wrong to call them friends, but Clive felt slightly different on the matter.

It'd be easier described that Clive- as much as he hated to admit it, it made him sound like a girl- had developed something of a _crush_ on the scientist, despite how single-minded he came off as.

Dimitri was oblivious to things and relatively thick-skinned, dense, if you will. How he didn't notice the blushing and the stuttering when he suddenly got close to Clive without warning, _he didn't quite know._ It had to be a talent, it just had to, or some sort of skill.

And, even if it cost him his visits to the Professor, he _would_ get the older man to notice him in the same light.

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><p><strong>AN: **Well, hello there. Welcome to my fanfiction which contains so much of my headcannon that _your face will explode._

Dimitri's the kind of classy motherfucker who uses _straight razors._ Like Sweeney Todd, man.  
>And he probably does some sort of sport or martial art- kickboxing, maybe.<p>

But really. Dimitri needs more love. ; A ; I love him to bits and pieces. He was my very favoruite character in the Unwound Future.

I think he's a year younger than Layton is, so he'd be 26 at the time of the explosion, which, if you backtrack it, is 13 years older than Clive.  
>Luke is 13 at the Unwound Future, so Clive is 23. Go back to the explosion, and he was 13 at the time. Now, jump to when this takes, place, three years ahead, just in step with my other Layton fanfiction. Dimitri is 39, Clive is 26.<p>

I love this pairing, nonetheless. I have a friend who's parents are 20 years apart. Doesn't really bother anyone.

In any case, please enjoy!


	2. Why She was Special

Professor Layton and all characters do not belong to me; the story does, though.

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><p>He'd been in the mental ward before, briefly. Clive had, too, and both of them had weekly visits- different days, different times, but Clive always noticed how <em>scared<em> Dimitri seemed to be after every appointment. He'd be shaking, muttering things to himself, bordering crying. Clive had figured, maybe after a month, that Dimitri was a broken man, and prison was breaking him further so. _This, _Clive reasoned, was the reason that Dimitri needed someone, and Clive exactly wanted to be that someone.

It was just a matter of how he'd get there. Dimitri was stubborn, and he usually clammed up when Clive asked too much from him. It was after three months that Dimitri started talking to him again after they were arrested, after Clive had used honest-to-god crying to get Dimitri to _say something._ Dimitri had only coldly replied, sounding like no more than the shell of a man he was slowly drifting into- "What is there to talk about, Clive?"

Dimitri was cautious for a year, and then he'd talk freely. After two years of being in the same cell, of this hell, Clive decided to ask what'd been on his mind since he'd overheard Dimitri telling Claire- not Celeste as she'd said- but Claire's story.

"What was so special about Claire that all three of you wanted her?" Clive asked, hesitantly, almost nervous.

"Special about Claire…?" Dimitri thought. A painful topic to bring up, but he'd answer honestly. It wasn't specifically important anymore, anyway. She'd been dead for thirteen years, with that hopeful little encounter three years ago and she still loved Layton. "…I don't think it'd do any harm to tell you. If we were in that series of the boy who lived, Potter, I'm sure you've read it?" Clive nodded- who didn't know Harry Potter?- and Dimitri continued. "If this were it, I'd be that sad Professor Snape with an unrequited love for Lily, who would be Claire." He paused for a moment. "Hershel would be James, albeit less crude, but you understand the general idea, don't you?" Clive nodded again, and Dimitri went on.

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><p>He'd met Claire in high school, and she'd be the type to wear a coat, no matter how hot it was, always wearing long gloves- anything to cover her arms. She'd said it was modesty, but Dimitri suspected otherwise. They hadn't spoken much before that, but one day Dimitri had decided to compliment a certain pair of gloves, lace-up, white and green, black ribbon, lace around the edges, fingerless- she'd given them to Dimitri after, as a joking token of friendship when he'd given her another pair of gloves.<p>

They struck up a conversation about science, and they were friends, close friends, at that. She came off as happy, as such a lucky person- until the day that she'd come over to study for a biology test, then she'd suddenly leaned forward, so close their noses nearly brushed together. She whispered the words, so quietly, so softly, but they were clear in the silence.

"Can I show you a secret?" She'd said, eyeing him cautiously.

"…A secret?" Dimitri said, flushing just so much at how close she was. He'd thought she was pretty before, but he found himself wondering what it'd be like if they were lovers more often in the recent weeks. "..I-I haven't anyone to tell, really, so- so I suppose it's all right."

"You have to promise me, you can't let anyone know." Claire sat straight, taking off her hoodie- it was purple, her gloves were green that day- and nervously, slowly, took off her gloves, holding pale arms out to show.

What Dimitri saw, he didn't say a word for what felt like forever. That was… it wasn't right, Claire wasn't supposed to have something like this.

No, not scars. No, no, no. She shouldn't have cuts, and some of them were red and angry and new and- good god, it was horrible to look at. Claire, a girl who'd cut her arms up and down? That didn't add up. That wasn't… It wasn't…

"Claire, you…." Dimitri breathed, not knowing what to say.

"You can't say a word to anyone." She hissed, despite the tears on her cheeks. This was as painful for her to show as it was for Dimitri to learn and no one else could know. Dimitri nodded, and he honestly surprised Claire when she felt his arms around her chest, hugging her, running his hand along her back.

"Please stop that. Please." He was holding on to her, wishing he could take whatever made her do that to herself- he already knew it, a stress and a self-hatred and self-loathing for fear of not being able to live up to expectation. She'd hinted at it before, but he didn't think it'd be like this.

"I…" Claire started, only to choke on her words and give in, crying into the boy's shoulder. They were only one year apart in grade, despite that he was her senior in that, he was still, easily, her best friend she'd had.

It took two years for Dimitri to realize that fluttering feeling in his stomach that he got around Claire was typically called _love_, but by that time, Claire was dating other boys and Dimitri didn't want to screw that friendship over with a stupid confession. The scars had faded considerably, with Dimitri's constant support and nagging, she'd quit the habit of cutting her arms to shreds.

So he just let things be as they were. Best friends for everything. When they got into University, Dimitri couldn't help but feel that swelling of jealousy in his chest when he'd see Claire with Hershel- he'd talk to Hershel sometimes, casual conversation, for the most part. It stung, to say the least of it. Years passed that way. He'd known Claire for eleven years exactly, the day she'd died.

She'd died on a special day, actually. Her birthday, for one, the celebration of her boyfriend being Professor, (He was happy for Hershel, but that jealousy made him slightly bitter to the man.) and the anniversary of the day they'd declared themselves as friends, to name a few. He'd run into the broken room, to see Claire there, dying. At the least, he got to hear her dying words. After that, it went fuzzy and all he could remember was screaming, crying, kicking at the people that tried to pull him away from Claire. She wasn't dead, she couldn't be, he'd remembered yelling. She was in a short coma, she'll wake up.

"Tell Hershel I love him. I'm sorry. Tell them I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. You're the best friend I could ask for, Dimitri."  
>Those were her last words before her hand went limp.<p>

That's what made Claire so special to him.

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><p>Clive only looked at Dimitri when he was done talking, breathing out a short <em>wow.<em>

Dimitri didn't say a word.

"Dimitri, you…" Clive swallowed. "You have a scar on your wrist, where the joints meet. What's that…?" Dimitri moved the cuff that had his ID numbers and barcode to show the white scar, straight and blaring.

"This scar, Clive?" He said, voice softer, tracing the scar with a finger. Left wrist. Claire said her first cut was on her left wrist, where the joints met. She learned to go higher to avoid suspicion, she told him.  
>"I suppose you can say I was curious to see what Claire felt when she did. It hurt, it bled quite a lot, but it was a release of stress. I can understand why she'd gotten into it."<p>

Clive made a short _ah, _before moving suddenly, surprising both Dimitri and himself.

Dimitri had been holding his wrist out to show Clive, so he could see what the scar looked like. While they were only two or three feet apart, Clive made that movement that made him realize how he thought of the scientist.

In a movement, Clive took hold of Dimitri's wrist, pressing his lips to the soft tissue of the scar. He felt Dimitri tense, and then he felt the man pull him up in an embrace, the gentle shudder of his body, shaking with quiet sobs.

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><p>With a soft gasp, Clive woke from his dream. No, not a dream. <em>A memory.<em>

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><p><strong>AN: **Heythere. As I said before, this has so much headcannon your face will explode.  
>All of this chapter is the past, save for the last three sentences.<p>

And, yes, I do think of Dimitri Allen and Snape to have such similar situations like whoa.  
>When I was watching the Deathly Hallows pt2, I kept thinking, "Snape is like Dimitri, holy shit." when they were playing Severus's memories.<p>

Personally, I wanted to flaw Claire so she'd be more likable; in cannon, she's perfect for everything except getting blown up.  
>I, personally, don't like Claire very much. Although, with this headcannon, I just might like her more.<p>

Notice how she doesn't wear short sleeves or anything, I just took advantage of that. I see her as the type of chick to wear neat gloves for fashion sometimes, you know?

This is the longest piece of anything I've written in a while, really.

I hope you like it! c: I know I have fun writing for this fic.

Please drop a review; I love feedback! (And the people that give it, but the point stays.)


	3. A Bold Move Indeed

I will cry tears of joy just to see 'The Etermal Diva' on the shelves of our movie section, but it isn't and I still don't own Professor Layton or anything related, save for this story.

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><p>Clive was surprised at how compulsive Dimitri could be at times. He'd been spending the last week filling out papers and leaving and doing god-knows-what, and Clive found why when they walked into the recreation area, right near the telly. In an area separate, there was a piano, and Dimitri looked rather pleased with himself.<p>

There wasn't a piano there a week ago. And then, things clicked in Clive's mind.

He'd bought a fucking _piano._ For the Prison. _On a damned impulse._

Dimitri sat down on the bench, with Clive behind him, open-mouthed in something akin to surprise. "Since I won't be getting out like you will, Clive, I may as well have something to do when Doctor Who isn't gracing the telly screen." He paused for a moment, thoughtfully. "Do you play an instrument, Clive?"

Clive ignored Dimitri's question entirely. This was news- despite the fact that they had life sentences, they could be released on parole for good behavior and paying bail. Both had enough money for it, but that Dimitri didn't plan on _trying, _that was surprising. Had the prison really broken Dimitri to giving up already?

"What do you mean, _you won't be getting out_?" Clive hissed, watching as the older of the two started to play, in turn, ignoring Clive's question. What he played sounded rather sinister, despite the tune itself. Rachmaniov's Piano Concerto No.2, Clive realized, as it was a piece he'd hear Dimitri humming sometimes. The rec room was quiet, other inmates staring at the man with a silver ponytail trailing over his shoulder play, the sound loud and clear. When he was done, there was one person clapping, then another, and then a good majority of the room was standing, clapping. Clive could swear he saw Dimitri blush, just a bit, but it was there. After that, someone else wanted to play, so Dimitri simply left and went back to the cell, Clive following behind, demanding answers.

"Dimitri! What in the fucking hell do you mean, you're not getting out! Of course you are, and we'll be out two years from now, on parole, free men!" Clive spoke, his tone somewhere between indignant and downright pissed.

"Unlike you, Clive, I haven't anywhere to go, nor any jobs to go to. My whole field is nonexistent now; I'm useless as a scientist. I haven't got a home to go to, that was all destroyed, nor do I have anyone to take me in. There's nothing left for me out there, Clive. It'd be utterly pointless." Dimitri sounded utterly defeated, taking his seat on the edge of his bed, the younger boy standing a few steps in front of him.

Clive was struck dumb for words. He had destroyed all of Underground London, and the same for the area where Dimitri had lived. Nobody was killed, thank god, but a few people were injured by that fortress. (How he missed that fortress, his beloved fortress.) Grasping for something to say, he couldn't think of anything at all.

"You- you could- you could stay with me!" Clive said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. He wouldn't mind that at all, having Dimitri with him. "After- After I find a place, I can move in and you can live with me and-"

"And then what, Clive? Go on and live with you like that? I couldn't impose like that, even for a few months, no doubt you've got plans to get some nice girl and start something." Dimitri almost sounded bitter, but it was more irritated than anything else. "It's a stupid plan, Clive, you know that."

Clive had no such plans, not at all. "Dimitri, I don't have any intention of letting you rot in here. Look at what it's done to you! Just listen to yourself!"

Dimitri didn't say anything at all. He didn't say anything for at least five minutes, only looking at Clive, almost bored, not very much amused by what he was suggesting.  
>"Why in the hell do you care so much about what I'm going to do, Clive?"<p>

Clive looked at the man for maybe a whole two seconds before deciding, action will take better than word would. He wouldn't be able to choke it out, anyway, so why the flying fuck not? He'd be leaving for Layton's house to leave for the weekend tomorrow, anyway.

With five seconds of hesitation, Clive did the only thing he could think of to answer.

He leaned forward in one motion, and with another, took Dimitri's face in his hands and kissed the older man full on the mouth.

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><p><strong>AN: **I think I need to be listening to Cobra Starship every time I write for this fic.

Personally, I think this chapter could be better, but it'll do.  
>Let's see, now we'll have the whole, "Fucking what the hell was that Clive what the hell are you just what. Stop messing with me already dammit."<p>

And aaaaaangst.  
>I like me some good angst every now and then.<br>I'll probably get a new chapter up tonight, as I find writing this fic later in the evening is a lot easier.

Well, then. Please drop a review, they're really appreciated! They make me really happy! c:


	4. It's Awkward No Matter What

If Professor Layton were to belong to me, I think it'd end up being more canon that there'd be Dimitri and Clive bumming.

Sadly, it does not and there's hardly anything of the sort. /sob

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><p>…Now, he didn't exactly expect to feel Dimitri's mouth move against his own, kissing him in return.<br>_With tongue. _

Nor did he expect Dimitri to be able to kiss like… like _this, _making him melt into the other man's touch when the older put a hand on the back of his head, the other at his waist, pulling him closer. Clive hadn't any idea what to think, other than be entirely elated and equally confused as to _why_ Dimitri was kissing him in return. For now, he'd enjoy this while he could, mentally noting that with this amount of tongue and just outright _snogging_, this would be one of those kisses that looked like borderline cannibalism. He didn't give a damn, so long as they weren't caught. (Thankfully, everyone was in the recreation room with the pretty new piano, despite that it was late in the evening.)

Clive only broke the kiss to_ breathe, _gasping for air, face flushed, catching a glimpse of Dimitri licking his lips, just slightly, with the barest of amused expressions crossing his gaunt features.  
>"If I may," Dimitri said, with a tone that sent shivers down Clive's spine in the best way possible, "May I ask exactly what that was for?"<p>

Clive opened his mouth to ask the same thing in retort, but different words came from his mouth, "Where in the _fuck_ did you learn to do that?" he breathed, still catching his breath. Dimitri smirked, although there was something else catching to his expression, creeping in slowly.

"I've done my fair share of kissing in my day, Mister Dove." He spoke slowly, his tone quieter. There was a guilty expression crossing his face. "If you would, would you answer my question?" He looked somewhat on edge now, and he was fidgeting just slightly, tugging at his hair, biting his lip. He'd just made out with Clive, for point one. Clive was a boy, for point two. And for point three, very important this point three, Clive was _thirteen years younger than he was._ Actually, the difference was closer to fourteen years, to be honest.

The point stood, still, and then Clive spoke words that definitely caught his attention. "That- that was my an-answer." He stuttered, face still flushed.

"Answer to…?" Dimitri said, motioning for Clive to continue speaking.

"You asked why I care so much about wh-" Oh, fuck, Clive, don't say _who, _ that's taking it a little far, the younger man thought, quickly correcting himself, "_-what_ you do."

"And doing such a thing would be what for an answer…?" Dimitri said, inquiring further. Good fucking god, the man was dense.

"I-I-" Looks like he would have to choke out the words, after all, damn. "I- I-I…"

Deep breath Clive, you can do this. Three words, and love is not one of them. _Yet._

"I-I like you. ."  
>The words came out in a tumble, spoken so quickly Dimitri wondered why Clive's tongue wasn't a knot.<p>

"_Ah._ That would make sense." Dimitri made no further sound until Clive asked a question of his own.

"Why did you… well, why did you…_respond_ like that?" Clive said, face still flushing, what with all of this.

"Why not?" Dimitri shrugged. To be honest, he didn't exactly know. Perhaps it'd been too long since he'd been so close to anyone. Sure, he'd had lovers in the last ten years, but it didn't quite feel right, and the last six years, with working with Clive and going to prison, he hadn't had anything, really. "It'd be rude to push you away, not to mention relatively _awkward." _He paused. "It's been quite a while since someone's done anything of the sort, I must say, you've surprised me."

Clive stared at Dimitri, who stared in return. Scratch that, Dimitri, this is going to be somewhat awkward. No, scratch that again, Dimitri, this is going to be _very_ awkward.

Clive, being Clive and always the bold one that couldn't stand quiet, spoke first.  
>"You don't feel that way for m-me, do-do you?" He was tripping on his words, looking at the walls, the floor, his shoes, everywhere except for the man in front of him.<p>

"I can't say I do, nor can I say I don't." Dimitri spoke slowly, carefully picking his words. "I still have difficulty trusting you, considering you'd intended to use me as a pawn in a scheme to level London, killing every inhabitant and myself." He sighed. "How am I to know you aren't trying to do something similar, on a more intimate, but less ornate scale, using this purely for amusement?"

Clive hadn't thought that part through. He felt himself choking on the words he was trying to spit out, feeling the utter hurt in his chest. Was this how Dimitri had felt when he saw Claire with Layton, stating her love for him without hesitation? Dimitri could see as much in his face, that feeling of rejection.

"…I can't say that I believe you're doing that, either." Dimitri sighed, after Clive had made a hiccuping sound at the back of his throat. "While I can believe that you're being honest about your… _feelings, _I still maintain some difficulty thinking to trust you with having such a relationship." His tone was thoughtful. "I can't say I haven't entertained the thought before." He paused for a few moments, watching clive take in what he'd said, the younger man's expression brightening considerably. "You do know that this is utterly_ wrong_ by most moral and social standards, don't you? Almost _fourteen years, _Clive."

Clive hadn't exactly thought of that, either. This wasn't exactly working for his favor was it? But then again, Dimitri had just said he'd considered it before. Good god, this would take more work than he thought it would.

He had to say that Dimitri's stubborn attitude was one of his favourite traits, despite the disadvantages it held. Just as he was about to say something, a bell went off, signaling the end of recreation room time and lights out in five minutes.

Clive was elated to feel Dimitri's lips against his cheek in a soft peck, as well as a whispered, "Reconsider while you're gone, think through it a little more. I'm sure you'll figure it out. In the meantime, Good night, Mister Dove."

Needless to say, Clive went to bed a happy man.

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><p><strong>AN: **Hhhhngh, this chapter could also use improvement, but hey.

To be honest, I have to thank ChocoMuffincake for being so damn supportive and amazing. Thank you!

What else?

Writing snogging is awkward and somewhat embarassing.  
>And now I'm tempted to be writing lemony things for this pairing. Fuuuuuuuck,<p>

Anyway, Enjoy and please review!  
>I love your feedback.<p> 


	5. Take a Walk in the Cold

I don't own Professor Layton. At all.

(Full Chapter title; _Take a Walk in the Cold, It's a Perfectly Reasonable Excuse for Two Men to be Holding Hands._)

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><p>It took most of the morning to convince him, and even then, Dimitri was groggy from being woken at <em>five in the morning<em> simply because Clive wanted to talk nonsense about bringing him to Layton's. After all, Dimitri didn't go outside unless he strictly had to. Once he did manage to convince Dimitri, after maybe an hour or three of Clive's incessant begging, he had to go through all sorts of protocol to get his clothes back, which, to his amusement, were recently washed and in the same condition he'd left them, the same as he'd given them up, save for the fact that they were clean and ironed. He hadn't really changed in appearance, save for his hair being more strongly silver and much longer.

Apparently, Clive started explaining when they were waiting for the Laytonmobile to pull up at eight in the morning, the boy had worked it out with the Professor the day before, dragging Dimitri along. The professor said he'd be happy to have Dimitri over, if briefly, considering. At this, Dimitri nearly bitch-slapped the boy and yelled at him, if it weren't for the car pulling up. Dimitri tipped his hat to the guards, walking over to greet the man, following Clive. The Professor was asked to sign a few forums, and then the three were free to go until Monday.

The professor and Dimitri spoke of idle things during the drive, as Clive couldn't help but be entirely giddy that he actually got Dimitri _out of the cell_. The man was tired, having not slept until about a half hour before Clive woke him. Both of them being in the back seat, after maybe fifteen minutes of silence, Clive felt the weight of the other on his shoulder, having fallen asleep.

This was easily one of the only times that Clive liked the four-hour drive between their prison and Layton's home.  
>The other times, usually, were when the Professor's road rage was at its worst. To see the professor cursing and getting so <em>irritated, <em>thatwas utterly hilarious.

When they got there, Luke and Flora seemed rather interested to see Dimitri again, who seemed relatively out-of-place, unsure of what exactly to do.

"I mean, really, it's so freaking _soft, _Dimitri, what do you do with it? Luke, Luke, feel that! His hair is softer than mine is!" Flora and Luke seemed to like messing with Dimitri's hair, too. Really, between the three, you'd think they were honestly related.

"Now, Luke, Flora, it isn't proper to be bothering Dimitri without his permission." The Professor said, his tone gentle as it always was. Setting out tea for five, he spoke again after the two got off the man and stopped with his hair. "How have you been, Dimitri?" the Professor asked, stirring his tea, even though it was black.

"Tired, I'd suppose." The scientist replied with a dry smile. "I wonder how much this part of London's changed in the last three years."

"It hasn't changed that much." Luke said, his tea with too much sugar, as usual, but not nearly as syrupy as it was when he was last living in London.

"Except for a few stores and restaurants, it's still the same." Flora added, nodding.

"Ah." Dimitri said, staying relatively quiet. This was still somewhat awkward, talking to people he both hardly knew and barely talked to. "I suppose I should go find some sort of hotel to stay in, I'd hate to impose, Hershel." He said, standing and taking his hat. Clive had been reading something, ignoring the conversation, perking up when Dimitri got up.

"I'll show you the area, with your directional skills, you'd get lost, Dimitri." Clive got up, following suit. After a moment, he added, "Don't expect me back, Professor." Layton only gave a sort of _look,_ the type that said _I'm-slightly-suspicious-but-it's-your-choice,_ and nodded, giving a short wave to the tow as they walked away.

"So, then, Clive, what are your plans?" Dimitri asked, looking around. It was honestly cold, but it was the middle of November, so it was to be expected.

"Well, there's one hotel that's run by the people who ran one in Underground London, so you'd be able to stay there without charge, and then there's a restaurant nearby." Clive looked thoughtful for a few moments before speaking again. "We could just enjoy the scenery, for now, walking like this." There weren't really any people out, and those that were paid no mind to them.

Clive managed to get close enough to take hold of Dimitri's hand, pleased when he felt the older lace their fingers together.

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><p><strong>AN**: I know I said I'd have a chapter up last night, but I didn't have the chance to write it.

This is also, easily, the fluffiest and shortest chapter yet.  
>Next chapter, or the chapter after that, the rating on one chapter's going to be higher.<p>

As all the yaoi fics state, don't like, don't read. 8D  
>But really. ;;;;<br>SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SEXUAL. TENSION.  
>8I It needs to be fixed, man, seriously.<p>

As usual, your reviews get you my love. c:


	6. Alphabet Soup Carries Insults

I don't own Professor Layton or anything related. Just this story.

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><p>"Flora had once served alphabet soup instead of tea, you know. I suppose it was her April Fool's joke, but the Professor was most certainly <em>not<em> amused. He still drank it, though. Luke came down with food poisoning shortly after." Clive chuckled, remembering that. That weekend was one of the most eventful that he'd spent with the Professor. The two had stopped by to a café, to get a drink before going to a hotel. Dimitri, though not usually one to drink coffee, ordered the strongest damn espresso he could find, while Clive had hot chocolate with copious amounts of cream on top.

"Alphabet soup?" Dimitri mused, swiping his finger through the cream in Clive's hot chocolate. (Earning a small "Hey!" from the other in the process.) "Did she spell anything in the cups?"

Clive thought for a moment, and then spoke, with a smirk on his face. "She did. In Luke and the Professor's cups, at least. I didn't pay attention to mine." He paused, smirk widening. "Luke got a '_FUCK YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT MOTHERFUCKING BASEBALL,' _while the Professor got '_GENTLEMEN DON'T FUCK THEIR ENEMIES.'"_ He thought. "I'm pretty sure she put something about glass tanks and fortress fetishes in mine."

"Is that so?" Dimitri smirked, putting his fingertip in his mouth for a moment, licking the cream off, thinking about something. "I once set fire to my stepmother's garden when I was fourteen. I was grounded for a half-year, but it was entirely worth it." He hummed, sipping the espresso, looking at the light snow that had started falling. "Considering that it's a week to December, the snow's come later than it did last year."

"I prefer snow to rain." Clive shrugged. It had been one when they got to Layton's, tea-time took an hour, and then they were walking for three hours until now. Five in the evening, and it was starting to get dark. "Why did you set fire to the garden?" He asked, looking back at Dimitri, who was still looking at passerbys and the snow.

"She refused to have me speak in any other language than Russian in the house. My father was Russian, and my mum English, when my father remarried, he married a Russian woman, thinking that she'd be a better mother. I have a sibling I never met because of the divorce between my parents. I've seen pictures, but never met her." He paused. "That's off-topic, isn't it? My apologies. Well, I suppose it was because I brought Claire over and she got upset that I hadn't had some Russian girlfriend. The woman was an utter _bitch_, mind you." He gave a smug look, smirking. "Claire had the idea to pour gasoline on the plants, to kill them. I set fire to it, and good god, _that reaction."_

"You're Russian?" Clive asked, gaining interest. "I've never heard you speak it or anything like that, or even mention it." The books with covers were books written in Cyrillic, he realized.

"Partially." Dimitri shrugged, finishing the espresso, looking back to the younger man across the table. "You've mentioned that you're half-German before." Clive nodded. "But what do our nationalities matter, really?"

"I suppose not." The younger mumbled, sipping the hot chocolate, careful not to get cream on his face. "It's late, you know. We should go find the hotel and get a room or something. I'm freezing."

Dimitri smirked. "_We_, Clive?" He couldn't inquire further, as Clive chugged the last of his hot chocolate and called the waitress over to pay before the scientist could say anything else. He did hear the other mutter something about a slip of the tongue.

Walking out, Clive seemed to be thinking about something rather deeply, and Dimitri decided to simply not press the issue further, despite the obvious connotation. "You know, according to the bible that is The Happy Tree Friends, there is always a rainbow after the rain. I wonder if it's true for snow?" Clive said, his tone distant.

"According to the same thing, if you sneeze with both your mouth and nose closed, your brains will be blown out the back of your head by the force of the sneeze." Dimitri replied, stopping, while Clive ran into a post with a loud, "Goddammit!" Dimitri had to laugh, as it was unusual as is for Clive to be so absent-minded.

"I'm glad it amuses you." Clive muttered, looking up at the sign. "This is it, yea. You remember it, don't you?" Dimitri nodded, letting Clive lead the way in, getting a room, not specifying anything other than, "Becky, I need a room." The girl sighed, waving at Dimitri, before crossing her arms, looking at Clive, checking that, yes, her grandmum was asleep, before speaking in a hushed tone, so as not to wake her.

"Clive, I've got to say, your timing is horrible. We only have one of those rooms with a double-bed and a fold out-couch. I mean, everyone's out partying but they leave their stuff here for later, really. It's a waste of our space, you know?" Her temptation to add '…_not that you'd use the couch' _was almost overwhelming. Clive considered this for a moment before nodding.

"It'll do, Becky. Thanks, I really mean it." He said, nodding as she gave him the key to the room, dragging Dimitri, who had started reading a pamphlet, in tow with him. Clive found the room easily enough, after figuring that it was in one of the higher floors, taking the elevator and nearly getting the wrong room twice. The room was enough, much like a lodging.

After he had his shoes off, the first thing the scientist did was walk to the bedroom and throw himself on the bed. _God-fucking-damn, _if there was anything he missed more than being able to have a glass of wine and a cigar every few nights, it was having a comfortable bed to sleep on. In his cell, he had that thin cot-mattress to sleep on- it was fine, sure, better than the floor. This, though, this was fucking _beautiful._ He could fall asleep like this, he could.

What kept him from doing so, though, was to feel something shift on the bed, and open his eyes to see a very determined and just-barely blushing Clive sitting on his lap.

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><p><strong>AN: **I tried to upload earlier, but Fanfiction was being a douche.

So.

Yeah.

There's implied DescoLayton.

You also don't have to read the next chapter. Whoooooo.

Reviews and the like are greatly appreciated. They keep me writing. c:


	7. Breaking a Few Rules

Professor Layton and all related things aren't mine, yo.

**x You don't have to read this chapter.**

**x This chapter's rating is M.  
><strong>

**x It's all smut and something like that anyway.**

x Did you know that sex is as good for your health as broccoli is?

x This also took all day to write. I'm so proud of myself.

x On another note, the reason that the entire story isn't M is because this is probably the only smuttastic thing I want to put in here. ;;;; I'M NOT THAT CONFIDENT IN MY LEMON SKILLS OKAY SORRY FOR THAT. ;;;;;

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><p>Dimitri gave a slight <em>ah, <em>finding this position of having Clive nearly straddling him to be only the slightest bit out of the ordinary. Only a little bit.

"And you're on my lap for what reason…?" the scientist said, propping himself up on his elbows, a smirk passing his mouth.

Clive opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was an incoherent stutter, and something like a squeak when he felt Dimitri's leg hook around his own and found himself under the older. He had to damn the man's ability to move so damn quickly, and always very suddenly. He could feel his face go from just barely pink to a dark red, and even more so when Dimitri pressed their mouths together in something of a peck, something small and chaste.

Chastity was the last thing either of them had on their minds, and that much was apparent when the scientist had his mouth against Clive's neck, leaving marks and kisses, eliciting moans and soft mewls from the other. Stopping for only a moment, Dimitri put his weight in one arm to use the other hand to unbutton the boy's shirt, watching his face blush at least two shades darker.

Giving the younger a moment to catch his breath, Dimitri spoke softly. "Clive, have you ever, ah, been… _intimate_ with a man before?" May as well ask, he reasoned, as it'd make things easier to know.

Clive made a sound in the back of his throat, looking to the side, an expression of nervous, embarrassment, and just barely showing was _hunger. _"O-Once, a-a long time ago." He muttered, blushing furiously still. Dimitri made a short hum, nodding, undoing the last of the shirt's buttons.

Clive started tugging at the hem of Dimitri's shirt, having no buttons to make work of, the older leaned back, sitting on his heels to pull the shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the direction of the dresser, not giving a damn for the moment. By the time Dimitri'd managed to get Clive's slacks off, he was frowning about something.

"Motherfucking hair tie," Clive mumbled, trying to get the offending piece of elastic out. He'd only seen Dimitri's hair out when they were in the showers, or when he was re-tying it, and that was all. There would be no obstruction in this. If they were going to share intimacy, then by damn, that fucking hair tie would be gone. Now they were sitting, Clive on the scientist's lap, shirts thrown to the floor or the dresser.

"…Hair just gets in the way, Clive." Dimitri sighed, running his hands on the smaller man's chest.

"I don't give a flying fuck, Dimitri." Clive muttered, picking at the elastic. With some hesitation, Dimitri got the band out, putting it on his wrist, so as not to lose it. In a way, he felt exposed, not having his hair as it usually was. Clive had taken his precious socks off, so, he supposed, it was a fair trade.

"…You're sure of this? You should well know that this isn't painless." Dimitri's voice was hardly heard, speaking so softly.

"Yes, Dimitri." Clive huffed. "I'm quite sure of the fact that_ I_ _want you to fuck me senseless."_ Clive snickered, as he could swear he saw the older man's face redden slightly.

"Ever-eloquent, Clive." The man sighed, groping the night table for something- fucking anything would do- for some sort of cream, god knows what. Finding whatever would do in the dresser's drawers, he made quick work of the last of the other's clothing, throwing it to the rest.

With only the slightest amount more of hesitation, Dimitri propped one of Clive's legs over his shoulders, letting him lay back. With a second of deliberation, he had that cheap hotel lotion on his fingers, Clive giving a loud moan with one finger in. By the time Dimitri had three fingers in, Clive was moaning nonsense, telling the man over him to _hurry the fuck up dammit please god damn ah fuck- _and a specifically loud sound at the back of his throat.

"Di-Dimitri, jus-just do it already," Clive breathed, clinging to what was left of his coherency. Fuck Dimitri and his teasing and fuck him and fuck Britney Spears and her mother and live concerts and prison and techno music and fuck this teasing- his thoughts were interrupted by Dimitri's voice.

"Do you want to walk tomorrow?" Dimitri growled, and Clive opened his eyes to look up at the man. The look in his features, that was something of its own brand of sex appeal. Hungry, predatory, and straight-out lustful was what that expression was.

And, frankly, it got Clive that much hotter.

After a few more moments of this, the scientist made quick work of his own pants and boxers, tossing them with everything else on the floor. With a soft, "_Relax now_," Dimitri pressed in, and Clive found himself in Dimitri's lap, holding on to the man, panting and clawing into his back, toes curling with pleasure. The scientist didn't argue, only whispering sweet nothings between his laboured breathing, running a hand along Clive's back, the other holding one of Clive's hands, lacing their fingers together.

A subconscious gesture of intimacy. Closeness. Comfort.

Dimitri only gained pace when Clive told him it would be fine, and by damn, the smaller of the two was bloody _loud. _It was a wonder that they hadn't gotten complaints at this rate. Between incomprehensible sounds and moaning the other's name, (_**Dimitri**_) and heated breaths, Clive had to admit that the older exceeded what he expected.

Dimitri was the first to give into release, and with a second more, Clive followed, breathing out each other's names, quite satisfied with themselves and each other. Pulling the bedsheets out and crawling under, they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs, too tired to bother bathing.

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><p><strong>AN:** Like I said before, this took me all day to write.

But it was fun to do. XD

Reviewers gain my love. c:


	8. Fuck the Lamp Posts

Layton series doesn't belong to me. I just really want to cosplay it. ;;;;

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><p>Clive woke on his own enough, nearly disappointed to find that Dimitri was already awake, and had been for at least an hour. The man hardly ever slept, but he figured Dimitri had slept for quite a while- he certainly had, as it was nearly noon. (The occurrences of the evening before were around eight or nine.) Getting up, gathering his clothes, which he found to be neatly folded, he went to take a bath.<p>

The hotel soaps were decent-quality, and he was somewhat sore from the night before and the marks on his neck were rather nicely developed. When he got out, relaxed by the hot bath, he found pancakes on the counter, still warm, with a small pat of butter on the side, and powdered sugar. No maple, as Dimitri full-knew that Clive didn't usually take his pancakes with maple.

Dimitri was on the couch, reading a newspaper, looking up when Clive sat next to him, plate of pancakes in his lap, starting to eat. "Good-morning, Clive." Dimitri said, quietly, smiling.

"G'mornin', D'mitri." Clive said, mouth full of pancakes, looking almost like a chipmunk, or maybe a squirrel, what with his cheeks full of food. Dimitri was humming something, a lullaby or something similar, but it sounded nice.

"Sleep well?" He asked, turning a page of his newspaper.

"_Very_." Clive grinned, swallowing his food. "And yourself?"

"Better than I have in quite a while." Licking his fingers to turn the page again, Dimitri spoke in an absent tone. "It's almost one, shouldn't you be getting back to Hershel's?" Clive scowled at the man.

"And how do you expect me to explain_ these?_" He demanded, gesturing to the marks- he hated the word 'hickey' or any other term for them- that poked out from his collar, even though he'd popped it. Dimitri re-adjusted the collar of his shirt, showing more of the marks.

"I'm not sure. You're a good liar, Clive, I'm sure you'll think of something." Dimitri grinned, fluffing Clive's hair.

"…What about you? You aren't going back to the Professor's?" Clive eyed the man, suspicious.

"No, I wouldn't want to impose. To be honest, I think I'll be going back to sleep. Tomorrow we'll be going back, anyway." Dimitri shrugged.

Clive huffed, leaning on the scientist. "Sleep? You're kidding, right?"

"I might go for a drink and a cigar later in the evening." Dimitri said, flipping the page.

"You're boring." Clive moaned, hitting his head against the man's shoulder, only to get flicked in the forehead.

"Those are really the only things I've missed outside of prison. That, and having a nice bed to sleep on." Dimitri poked the messy-haired man's forehead, frowning. "What do you miss from the outside world?"

"_Everything._" Clive started, sighing. "People, shops, food, restaurants, and churros. Fucking _churros. _They 'll only give you churros once or twice a month, Dimitri, that's why I go out to London. _To eat_ _churros." _ You couldn't ever forget Clive's churro addiction, you really couldn't. It was almost frightening, to an extent.

"You would create a cult dedicated to churros, wouldn't you?" Dimitri sighed, flipping the page of the London Times again.

Clive nodded vigorously. "I totally could." The taller man sighed, leaning his head back.

"You're really something else at times, you know, Clive?" Despite the exasperated tone of voice, the scientist was still smiling. Sitting up and putting the newspaper to the side, he put a hand to the side of Clive's neck, getting small sound of surprise and a jump from the brunette.

It was a gesture of affection, as Dimitri wasn't really a hugging person, but it was one of those Dimitri-like gestures of affection. Usually, that would be putting his hands on something warm, your neck, wrist, anywhere he could warm his hands on. And with Dimitri, his usual body temperature had to be at least twenty degrees below normal, always with cold hands. It was probably one of the reasons he always wore a scarf.

Dimitri-y gestures of affection were usually something that were looked at as something like an absent-minded gesture or accidental. He wasn't exactly touchy-feely, unlike Clive, who would hug people, hold their hands, cuddle up to people, things like that.

They spoke of idle topics, small things. Clive didn't exactly like the idea of leaving yet, but Dimitri insisted that he go back so as not to worry Hershel, seeing as he was the kind of person to worry, even when he's told not to.

"Just don't come back with mascara on, Mister Dove." Dimitri remarked, smirking at the disdain on the boy's face.

"It was _once, Dr. Allen._" Clive groaned, not wanting to even think about that. Flora had tailored a fucking dress for him, put him in makeup, and concocted an Alice-in-Wonderland scheme, Layton as the hatter, Luke as the dormouse, herself the March Hare, and, lucky Clive, the Alice. ("Falling down the rabbit hole of insanity, you've done it before, Clive!" )

Dimitri only waved the boy off, who frowned and stuck his tongue out (not unlike a child, really,) before leaving, waving and calling, "I'll come to get you tomorrow!"

Dimitri decided, after getting back into the room, that tonight would be a good night to get utterly shitfaced and sleep it off. Vodka, lots and lots of vodka. Or just sleep. Either way, Dimitri would be doing a lot of sleeping.

**X**

Clive was walking through the light snow that fell, wondering if it'd ever stop. He regretted not taking Flora's offer to make a scarf for him the year before, and now he had his neck exposed and all those damn marks showing. All he could do now was pop his jacket collar, keeping his ears warm.

That wouldn't work when he went inside, would it? The Professor had a slight compulsion that coats and scarves, ear warmers and boots were left where the coat-closet was kept. Or maybe he'd just say he didn't know. Bugs weren't out in this cold, and they didn't leave bruises. It happened in his sleep. Or just not talk about it.

That'd work best.

Either way, when he got back to the Professor, there'd be the likelihood that they'd be able to put two-and-two together and figure it out, even if they wouldn't say anything about it. (Knowing Luke and Flora, they'd bombard him with questions as soon as Rosa and the Professor were out of earshot.)

He had to damn Dimitri for another thing yet.

Fuck Dimitri and fuck hickeys and fuck complications. Fuck Britney Spears and-

His train of thought and muttering was harshly interrupted by his face making harsh contact with a lamp post.

_-And fuck lamp posts._

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><p><strong>AN: **I don't know either, but I just wrote three chapters of this in a day.

I don't know if I'm going to upload tomorrow.

There was this thing on the Laytonheadcannons on Tumblr, and it was something about Clive liking to comb Dimitri's hair,

I don't know why that made me so happy to see, but it did, ;;;;

Reviews and opinions make my day! (Or night. Damn you, timezone.)


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